


vicarious

by moo_lan



Category: Kagerou Project, Mekakucity Actors
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moo_lan/pseuds/moo_lan
Summary: From inside the Kagerou Daze, a sickly teen watched the fake steal his life; his eyes turned darker than they'd ever been, and he continued staring hatefully as the fraud slowly ruined what he'd robbed him of."I'm sorry," breathed the thief.The teen just narrowed his eyes and kept on hating him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	vicarious

**Author's Note:**

> Not kanoshin. For once. (Though you can probably find some if you squint because everyone knows that I'm kanoshin trash) Since I'm stuck on a fucking sailing boat in the middle of the Ionian sea and wasn't able to write, this is something I've written for the worst-case scenario. Which happened. Posting from phone, please forgive any typos.
> 
> Happy fifteenth of August (still 14 here but it has to be 15 somewhere, right?)
> 
> HARUKA NATION UNITE

There’s someone new inside the Daze.

The youngest of the snakes is the first to sense it; her eyes widen slightly in recognition, then she turns away from the newest addition. She’s not needed. She’s not human.

_In_ human.

Her eyes crinkle slightly, but she can’t afford to cry now. It isn’t the first time this has happened, and it certainly won’t be the last. So, instead,she spends a moment watching her double replace the human part of her, then turns her attention back to the outside. 

“Haruka?” Ayano’s voice is pained. Face blank, Haruka lifts his eyes to look at her; they widen. 

“Ayano? I don’t know what happened... There was this voice, and Konoha- and they _took my body-_ ” His voice breaks and he covers his face with his hands. “He stole it,” he breaths, absentmindedly moving his gaze to the screen in front of the hospital bed. It flickers open and Konoha is on the screen, face blank except for a flicker of confusion. 

Haruka tightly grips the sheets, fate taut. _“He stole it.”_

  
  
  


Konoha doesn’t know who he is.

And it’s hard enough not having basic knowledge of social norms, but if you add the additional factor of a rare so very vaguely familiar face, everything suddenly becomes all the more confusing. It isn’t even a sense of _familiarity_ \- more like a slight pressure behind his eyes, a pounding telling him that he _should be_ able to recognize them.

There’s someone inside his head telling him to _remember_ , but - as much as Konoha hates disappointing others - he doesn’t. He can’t. After all, Konoha is _Konoha,_ and Konoha doesn’t remember anyone.

He’s a failure. 

One of the non-aquaintances which cause him so much pain is currently slouching on the sofa in the dark, idly scrolling through his phone. The other (not) familiar stranger blares from said phone, her voice loud in the otherwise peaceful night.

From a corner comes a sleepy voice. “Shintaro, would you please shut her down?”

Grinning, Shintaro looks down at Ene, whose shouts suddenly turn desperate before abruptly being interrupted. He settles more comfortably on the couch, and everything is silent for a few minutes, the room filled only with the sounds of breathing.

_“Konoha, go to sleep,”_ someone hisses, and Konoha obeys because that’s just who he is.

When he opens his eyes, there’s blinding white all around him. Turning, he comes face to face with a hospital bed, a sickly-looking boy staring at him from it; there’s something dark inside his gaze, but Konoha has yet to know the name of every feeling.

“Hello,” he politely says, but the boy says nothing. His eyes grow darker still.

They’re both silent, Konoha standing completely still and continuing to blankly stare at the boy.

“You don’t know me?” asks the boy, and there’s something dangerous in his voice.

Konoha is aware that he should say that he does know him, but he also knows that it isn’t right to lie. “No.”

The boy lifts his chin, and Konoha shrinks away. “You don’t.”

Again, they fall silent.

“Have we met?” asks Konoha, because Momo has told him that it’s polite to make conversation when it’s silent for too long. He doesn’t want to disappoint her. Or any of his friends.

“You could say that.” The boy’s hands are gripping the sheets so tightly that his arms tremble slightly.

“I’m sorry,” says Konoha, not too much feeling in his voice because that’s just who he is. Well, just one of the very few things he does know about himself.

But it seems that it’s the wrong thing to say, because the patient narrows his eyes at him and ever-so-slightly leans forward. Konoha takes another step back. “You’re sorry?” the boy asks, a hint of hysteria in his voice.

There’s a faint pain growing inside Konoha’s head, spreading like vines. He says nothing, absentmindedly rubbing his temple with one hand.

“You’re _sorry._ ” Bitterly laughing, the boy unconsciously gives a hasty glance in the direction of a dark screen next to him; then he looks back at Konoha, straight in his eyes, and they seem so much darker than before. 

The vines inside Konoha’s head have spread, blooming small blossoms of pain that make Konoha stagger and grip his head. Giving no sign of caring about his pain, the boy keeps on staring darkly.

“Ah,” gasps Konoha before falling to his knees. He grips his head, shoulders hunched under the weight of a sudden pressure.

He’s suffocating.

“You know what that is?” the boy asks from his hospital bed. Konoha can’t see him, but his smile is audible. Konoha shakes his head violently, the pain unbearable. There’s a rustle of sheets, then the slap of bare feet on tiles; a screeching of wheels, the dripping of the IV, and an ironically comforting hand on Konoha’s shoulder.

Trembling, the fake lifts its head to look at the original.

“That’s judgement,” the boy smiles.

Konoha screams.

  
  
  


The next time the two of them meet, it’s already been two days and Konoha has acquired the taste of comradery and loyalty and _friendship_. Yet, a painful feeling still scrapes against his insides as he faces the sickly teen.

Konoha knows enough now to give a name to the feeling: guilt.

“Are you enjoying this, _Konoha_?” asks the boy and the (not really, not anymore) fake flinches away from the hate in his voice. 

If he knew the boy before him, he’d realize that all of this hatred he’s been showing is atypical in the least. There’s only a shred of hate inside him, and he’s spending all of it on Konoha.

How worthy he is.

But Konoha isn’t acquainted with teen he’s stolen his life from, so he has no way of knowing that he’s probably the only one to see this side of him. The only one to see his dark side, to push him past the edge, into the territory of despair and disdain and _contempt._

He ought not reply, he knows this. But Konoha also values sincerity and loyalty above all else, so he puts into practice all of the lessons on respect he’s been given. Bowing his head and keeping his voice even and as unassuming as possible, he avoids the boy’s eyes. “I am.”

All is silent.

For a few moments, Konoha can only remain bowed, head down, body hunched and timid. Then there’s a rustle, and he looks up to stare at the boy, who’s adjusted his pillows to sit straight as he stares at him. There’s something in his eyes mingled with the hatred, and it’s a feeling Konoha hasn’t learned yet.

There might be no name for it.

“Good,” the boy says, and his voice breaks.

  
  
  


The cables are fixed in place. Tateyama is captured, Clearing Eyes inside of him still.

So why does something feel wrong?

“Heh,” laughs someone, and, from the contempt in his voice, Konoha recognizes him as Clearing Eyes. Tateyama, but Clearing Eyes.

“Guys?” asks Shintaro, his eyes wide as he catches on. Tateyama grins and lifts the gun’s barrel to his head.

Sudden pain erupts inside all of Konoha at the same time Clearing Eyes pulls the trigger. 

There’s a sudden flash of darkness, then of light, then he is knocked out of control and forced to watch as Clearing Eyes, smirking, rips off Shintaro’s head and throws it aside like discarded trash. It hits the ground, thuds mutely.

Konoha screams in unison with Kano as they watch the corpse slam against the tiled floor.

  
  


“Konoha.”

Konoha blinks at the sudden whiteness, then looks at his predecessor. His eyes are still narrowed in hate, but there’s a sliver of empathy inside them. Just a sliver, but it’s enough for Konoha as he starts sobbing.

“Now you know how I feel,” says the boy, and it’s unfair unfair unfair, but Konoha can say nothing as he trembles with painful sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. He lifts his eyes to stare tearfully at the boy.

Haruka smiles sadly. “I know.”


End file.
